Fractured
by AssassinsLover
Summary: Emily has never felt so betrayed in her life. The aftermath following s4x02. Spoilers for s4x02. Naomily.
1. Chapter 1

This does contain spoilers for s4x02

* * *

Emily half believes that she'll wake up at any second and be able to roll over and curl into Naomi's arms. That she'll be able to bury her face in the blonde's neck and Naomi will stroke her hair and say that everything's okay, that it's just a nightmare, that she loves Emily. And then Naomi will kiss her and promise that everything will be okay. But it's not okay, and that won't happen.

She's never felt so betrayed in her life. Nothing Katie has ever done to her can amount to this. She's not even sure she has a heart anymore, just a big gaping whole in the middle of her chest, swallowing everything up. She was upset at first, didn't want to believe that Naomi would do that to her, then angry, fucking _livid_. She remembers something about the stages of depression or mourning or some other shit. She's pretty sure that apathy isn't anywhere in that list.

Katie's got a huge "I told you so" look on her face every time she looks at Emily, James doesn't give a fuck (she's pretty sure that he has no idea what's going on anyway) and their mother has this gloating smile on almost 24/7. Her father's the only person she feels she can connect with. Most of the time she's in her room, staring at the ceiling, ignoring Katie when she comes in, but whenever she leaves it for whatever reason and she runs into her father, he'll look at her and open up his arms. Sometimes they'll stand in the middle of the kitchen for what feels like hours before Emily finally pulls away and heads back to her room.

She feels like she's having some sort of out of body experience more often then not. Whenever she starts to cry, she feels like her spirit is floating above her looking down at her body and yelling "shut the fuck up, Fitch. Don't be pathetic. Don't cry. Don't let her win." But it doesn't stop the tears.

One night, when she woke up from a nightmare after tossing and turning for who knows how long, she dissolved into sobs. She wasn't sure if Katie had already been awake or not, but her twin had crawled into bed and stroked her hair. She didn't say anything, and for that Emily was grateful. Katie stayed in bed with her that night, one arm wrapped around her waist. Emily didn't dream anymore.

When she woke up in the morning, Katie was still there. It took some prodding before her twin woke up and gave her a squeeze before getting out of bed and going for a shower. Emily'd never been more grateful for her sister.

Sometimes, Emily wants to call Naomi. Just to hear her voice. The blonde tried after Emily went by to collect her things. She sent countless texts and rang more times than Emily cares to remember, but Emily never responded, and only answered once to tell Naomi to fuck off and stop phoning her. She still sends a text every now and then, and they always say the same thing: I love you, I'm sorry, I'll do anything, I miss you. Emily keeps her phone off most of the time now, can't stand to hear it constantly vibrating against her night stand.

-

She thinks, maybe, that she _does_ have a heart and that it's just in millions of little pieces at the bottom of her rib cage. Because if she didn't, then it wouldn't hurt as much as it does. Naomi texts her again, but this time it's asking if Emily will meet her. She tells Katie, who bitches at her and tells her not to go. To that, Emily shrugs her shoulders, says that she has to and Katie doesn't argue, just looks at her like she's fucking pitiful and Emily feels it.

They meet at a pub. Emily sees Naomi sitting at the bar with a pint and the fragmented bits of her heart begin to quiver. She stands there, unable to move like her feet have been cemented to the ground until Naomi turns around and looks right into her eyes. She forces her body to listen, walks inside and sits next to the blonde. Close, but still far away. She fixes Naomi with a glare and sees the blonde shrink slightly.

"What d'you want, then?" she asks, forcing herself to be strong and not to just collapse into Naomi's arms and forgive her and tell her to just take her home. Naomi offers a small smile.

"Hi, Ems." Emily bites back a sigh, not in the mood for pleasantries. She asks again,

"What do you want, Naomi?"

"For you to come home." Emily bites her lip. She hadn't expected this. She'd expected a plea for forgiveness, excuses trying to be passed as explanations and justifications. The word "home" rings painfully in her ears. Is it home, really? A part of her says, yes, it is home. Anywhere Naomi is is home. The logical part of her says it's not. She knows she left a few things there, because she couldn't bear to take everything back, wanted to hope that things would work out and she'd be able to go back and pick up where she left off.

"Why should I?" she counters, frowning. Naomi shrugs and plays with her rings. She doesn't meet Emily's gaze.

"Because it's not the same without you there. It's not home without you." Emily's heart breaks just a little bit more. Be strong, Emily, she tells herself. Be strong. Be independent. You don't need her, you don't. But she does. She eyes Naomi coldly, hates what the blonde does to her. Finally, she nods very slightly, barely moving her head. Naomi smiles slightly, Emily doesn't return it.

"Is that it then?" She can tell Naomi wants her to stay, but the blonde nods.

"I've left your key under the mat." Emily hates how predicable her behaviour can be.

-

Naomi offers her the bed. She doesn't take it. Sets up her own little section by the kitchen instead. She doesn't really live there, just sleeps there, does her coursework whenever she's not out getting fucked up, which is less and less as time goes on. Surprisingly, she finds herself spending more and more time with Cook which usually entails spending time with Effy, which means that Freddie will be there and Emily can't stand to seem them so fucking lovey-dovey with each other and wonders how fucking _Effy_ of all people can have a relationship and love life that's happier than her own. Her and Cook never stay long after the two of them show up.

He's a good friend, Emily concludes after a week of blowing off all her work for college and spending every night getting monumentally trashed. Yeah, he's a cunt most of the time, but he can listen remarkably well for someone in danger of flunking out of school, and he's a lot kinder and smarter than he lets on.

"People do really fucked up things when they're afraid," he tells her one night as they laugh and stumble their way back to Naomi's. Emily nods, too drunk to really process what he said (although she'll realize the truth of it in the morning). He's quiet when they practically fall through the front door, but she can't tell over her own giggles so she shushes him loudly and he grins at her. She falls asleep still dressed laying half on top of him with a blanket over her head.

Naomi is sat on the sofa staring at her when she wakes up and groggily pulls the blanket off of her head and twists out of Cook's arms. Her hair is in a ponytail (a look Emily decided looks amazing on her) and her legs pulled up under her body. She's sipping one cup of tea and resting the other on her knee. Emily stands, she smooths down her hair and takes the tea. She tries not to let their fingers touch, but they do anyway. She nearly drops her teacup.

"You look beautiful," Naomi says softly.

"I look well rough," Emily scoffs. Her voice cracks and nearly gives out. She knows her hair is a mess and that her make-up had run down her cheeks and smudged enough to make her look like a panda. She takes a sip of her tea. Ends up burning her throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, Emily takes it too far.

She doesn't know who gave her the pills, but she wants to find them and tell them that they're fucking top-notch. She feels as light as a fucking feather, and her head is spinning and the music is pumping straight through her veins. She can feel Cook behind her, because he never strays too far from her side when they're out together, rubbing his body against hers and she doesn't care. She grinds right back, bottle of vodka swinging dangerously in her hand, only a miniscule amount of liquid sloshing around in the bottom. Cook offers her MDMA, and Emily doesn't think, just takes, washes the pill down with the rest of the vodka.

She thinks she may have blacked out. She remembers getting sick on the club floor and Cook dragging her outside. She remembers being shoved into a taxi. Then a flash of platinum blonde and a familiar voice screaming,

"Cook! What the fuck!? Look at the state of her!" Her vision is blurry. Her stomach is turning. Her head starts to hurt. She wants the yelling to stop.

Suddenly her clothes are gone and there's cold water being poured over her head. Shaking hands are smoothing her hair away from her face, washing away the sweat from the club, and dried sick off of her face and out of her hair. Naomi. It's Naomi, she realizes and her body automatically jerks away from the blonde's touch. The touch softens and coaxes her back towards Naomi's body.

"Emily, what were you thinking?" It's a soft whisper against the top of her head. Emily doesn't remember anything else.

-

She wakes up feeling like her head has split in two with a warm, familiar body pressed tightly against her own. It takes her a while to realize who exactly it is next to her, and the position that they are in; arms around each others waists, fingers tangled in the fabric of shirts and one leg in a very awkward position. She inhales. Naomi. She rolls away and grimaces as her stomach lurches violently. Naomi's arms tighten around her, but her movement wakes the blonde. Naomi sits up with a start and immediately pulls away from her, an apologetic look crossing her face.

"Sorry, I-you were-I tried to leave you alone last night, but you wouldn't let go of my shirt," she explains, standing. She disappears. Emily pushes her face into a pillow and wills her temples to stop throbbing. She's interrupted by Naomi's voice and a glass of water and pills being held over her head. She takes them, tries hard not to let their fingers brush and mutters a cracked thank you.

-

Their first kiss comes a week later and catches Emily completely off guard; Naomi as well. It starts as a normal day for them, sitting in the kitchen, not speaking while Emily makes breakfast and Naomi reads the paper. It's sickeningly domestic, Emily thinks as she sets a plate in front of Naomi. As it's been for the past fortnight, they eat in silence, not looking, not touching, on opposite sides of the table.

Naomi's got her pig shirt on. Emily thinks she looks adorable. She mentally kicks herself.

Emily finishes eating first, cleans her plate, and without thinking, kisses Naomi's cheek on her way out of the kitchen. She's halfway through the living room when it hits her what exactly just happened and she turns around to see Naomi staring blankly at the table with her fingertips against her face, looking just as surprised as Emily. She thinks it must be some sort of sign. She goes upstairs to dress.

-

She's stopped going out clubbing as late, having Cook bring her back early and look out for her. He does a remarkably good job of making sure she doesn't get out of hand again. She figures Naomi gave him a good talking to, if the screaming she remembers says anything. He's come over a few times, trying valiantly to help her out with coursework only to give up and start trying to flick coins or beer tops into her shirt instead. Emily does her work on the couch or in the kitchen, and Naomi in her room.

After the kiss, Naomi starts doing her work on the couch. The silence that has hung between them for the past two weeks begins to dissipate. Things begin to break out of the mechanical feel they had taken on, becoming more natural. Emily finds herself smiling more, laughing without the aid of alcohol or drugs. Naomi will shake her shoulder when she falls asleep with her face in her books and make her go to bed, and clean up the kitchen after Emily cooks (and she always cooks, because the one time Naomi tried it was worse than eating her mother's cooking).

"Emily," Naomi whispers in her ear one night when she's sprawled out in a chair at the kitchen table, barely awake. "Come on. It's late. Go to bed." So Emily pushes herself out from the table, shakily stands and stretches with a yawn. Naomi's hand lingers on the small of her back. She drops it as Emily snatches her blanket off the arm of the sofa and starts towards the stairs, only to be cut off as the redhead sleepily stumbles up the stairs ahead of her and face-plants onto the bed. Naomi rearranges her splayed limbs with gentle hands, coaxing her near comatose form under the blankets.

She feels the opposite side of the bed dip as Naomi climbs in, but not the familiar warmth of the blonde's body. Emily shifts over slightly, knowing Naomi must be dangerously close to falling off and feels her body move once. Emily's debating whether to curl up against Naomi or stay where she is as she falls asleep.

-

She wakes up with her back curled up against Naomi's front. It takes her a few minutes to move.

They start sleeping in the same bed again, never touching, but always waking up tangled up in one another, drawn to each other even in slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time they fuck (and it is fucking, not _making love;_ Emily doesn't know if she'll ever be able to do that again) it's a week after they begin to sleep in the same bed and it's hard and fast and Emily is utterly ruthless.

"Did you fucking think about her while you touched yourself, Naomi?" she hisses into the blonde's ear, shoving her against the closed bedroom door. "Did you fucking think about her when you were kissing me?" She digs her nails sharply into Naomi's hips. "Did you fucking think about her while you were _fucking me?"_ Punctuates her words with sharp bites to Naomi's lips and neck. She feels Naomi shuddering; finds that she doesn't give a shit.

"Emily," is the pleading response, thick with tears. Hands push at her shoulders. Emily pins Naomi's wrists to the door.

"No. You don't get to cry. You're not allowed to _fucking_ cry, Naomi. You have no right." Naomi twists her wrists out of Emily's hands and swipes furiously at her eyes. Emily pushes her back towards the bed, forcing Naomi's hands back against the mattress whenever the blonde tries to touch her. "No," she growls and bites Naomi's lip. She tastes blood.

-

They're both sore in the morning. Naomi moves delicately when she gets out of bed, refusing to let her eyes rest on any part of Emily; Emily can feel her back and shoulders burn when the fabric of her top rubs against her skin. Cook gives them both a once over when they come downstairs (he'd spent the night on the couch, too wasted for either of them to let him go home), furrows his brow and quietly puts on his shirt and leaves, the door clicking softly behind him. Emily looks at Naomi's lips and the scab already forming.

"Sorry," she mutters, feeling drained, her anger having evaporated like water as soon as her arms had given out the night before and she'd all but collapsed on top of Naomi. The blonde raises her hand to her mouth, gingerly pokes her bottom lip with her fingers and then shrugs her shoulders.

"I deserve it." Emily sighs, sits at the kitchen table and massages her temples while Naomi puts the kettle on.

-

The second time the fuck is initiated by Emily's desire to kiss Naomi's palm better when she burns it pouring tea. They don't make it further than the kitchen table.

-

Emily lets Naomi start to hold her hand in school (well, everywhere) again. She feels how the blonde's fingers tremble when she goes to lace them with Emily's, and how when she does she squeezes like the world will end if she lets go. She won't let Naomi kiss her, save chastely on the cheek.

Naomi takes Emily out to the lake, complete with vodka and spliff, and bites her lip to keep from hissing when Emily's fingers dig painfully into her skin. Emily's breath catches when Naomi's hips jerk against hers.

Naomi's breath is warm against her skin, coming in soft pants along her neck. Her touches are rough, Naomi's are gentle. She bites, Naomi kisses. She curses, Naomi whispers, "I love you." When she comes, she glares. When Naomi comes, she cries.

-

She doesn't fight the desire to curl against Naomi when they've finished, pressing her face into the blonde's neck and kissing the sweat off her skin and the tears off her cheeks. Naomi is trembling, and Emily doesn't know if it's from the cold or the sex or if she's trying not to cry so she tightens her grip anyway.

"Tell me we can make this work, Nae," she whispers against Naomi's collarbone. Naomi sighs when she kisses it and plays with her hair.

"I know I've fucked up spectacularly. I don't have an excuse. But I meant what I said. I'll do anything." Emily rakes her nails lightly down Naomi's spine and sighs gently into her neck. "I'm sorry, Emily."

"You've said that too many times for it to mean anything," Emily says, sharper than she intends to and Naomi's body tenses.

"I love you."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"I don't know. Figure it out for yourself." It's quiet for a while, with only the sounds of the woods and the crackling fire around them.

"Let me make love to you. I don't want to fuck anymore," Naomi pleads softly. Emily shakes her head slowly after a few seconds and traces shapes on Naomi's ribcage. She reaches for the vodka, mostly empty, and takes a sip.

"I can't do that, Naoms. I just can't." She turns around, snuggling back against Naomi and fixing her eyes on the fire. Naomi's arms wrap tightly around her waist, pressing their bodies firmly together. "Not now." She feels the blonde's hand trailing slowly down her stomach. "Naomi..." Emily sighs tiredly, but feels her body responding anyway.

"I don't know how else to prove it right now, Ems. Please, let me," Naomi whispers and kisses her shoulder. Emily gives in. She feels goosebumps raise along her arms and stomach as Naomi's fingers move across her skin that have nothing to do with the chill air surrounding them. She struggles to keep her eyes open, to keep her mouth shut and stay silent. Naomi's body slides against hers. Emily lets out a shuddering breath and tangles her fingers in Naomi's hair, tugging. The blonde looks up, kisses Emily gently and ghosts her fingers across the inside of the redhead's thigh.

Emily touches the scratches left by her nails on Naomi's back and shoulders and feels the blonde's almost indiscernible flinch. She digs her fingers into Naomi's hips and tries hard not to scratch her anymore than she already has. Naomi kisses her sternum tenderly, slips a hand between her thighs.

-

"We can do this, Emily," Naomi whispers when the shaking in Emily's body subsides. "Okay?" And Naomi's voice is full of such emotion that she can almost believe that they can. Maybe one day she will.

End.

_Love conquers all things; let us, too, surrender to love. Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori. ~Virgil 70-19 BCE_


End file.
